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“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”
She laughs it off. “I’ll be right back.”
Well, I am definitely not getting the job now.
Two days later, I’m arriving for my first shift at The Fox’s Den. My heart was pounding so fast during my interview, I am surprised I didn’t faint. I was even more surprised when Stella decided to actually hire me.
My hand stalls on the door. If I step through this door, there’s no going back. I can feel the increasingly heavy thump of my heart, and my mouth goes dry.
I’m ashamed that the thought that gets me to push the door open isn’t revenge or justice for Beth. Selfishly, it’s for myself. Ever since I started down this path, the nightmares have stopped. As crazy as it sounds, I’m starting to think they were my punishment for not doing anything to find her killer. And I’m terrified that if I give up now, they will come back.
I shake off the thought and walk inside, reminding myself that I’m not Harlow Hargrave, Beth King’s best friend. I’m Amanda Jones, and I’m nothing but excited for my new job.
It’s in between the lunch and dinner rushes, so the place is fairly empty. Old-school country plays quietly, and a middle-aged man drinking alone at the bar bobs his head to the beat. It smells like fried food, but also citrus-scented wood polish. I pass a table of patrons and laugh to myself when I spot a salad covered in what looks like a hell of a lot like blue cheese.A crowd favorite.
“Amanda, hey! Good to see you.” Stella waves in my direction from across the floor. I look behind me to see if there’s anyone else and then remember,I’mAmanda. She really just thinks I’m like any other waitress on her first day. If one person bought my phony identity, surely others will too.
“Hi, Stella…?” It comes out like a question because halfway through speaking, I panicked that my voice sounds too high and fake and then worried my smile was too forced.
“Yep, you got it right. Come on, let me show you around and then you’ll shadow me for this shift.”
She introduces me to Marty, the bartender, Eli, the chef, and a few of the other servers and bussers. Everyone is friendly, and the tension in my shoulders from expecting to be discovered any second slowly loosens. She gives me the grand tour, and so far, nothing seems out of the ordinary.
I remind myself that this is nothing new. Before I was working full-time as a freelance writer, I would serve tables between gigs. So, at least I’m not stressing about how to do the job. Just taking down a serial killer. No sweat.
She shows me to the staff lockers, and I get a prickle at the back of my neck. I realize why when she points out a closed door labeled “office.”
“Is that your office?” I ask, trying to ignore the swirling unease in my gut.
“That’s the brothers’ office. If the blinds are down”—she points to the shuttered blinds covering a square window on the door—“don’t even bother knocking.” She gives me a pointed look, and I get a chill in the pit of my stomach.
Sheknows. She knows everything.
My mind starts swimming, and I’m about to be pulled under when she rolls her eyes and adds, “They can be such little bitches sometimes, and they hate to be interrupted.”
“Ha!” I force out way too loudly, and she gives me a curious look.
“First day jitters? Don’t worry, you’ll do fine. They like to act like tight asses, and sure, they can be intimidating at first, but really they’re just big drama queens.”
“I bet you’re the real boss around here.” I laugh, trying to match her laidback energy. She certainly doesn’t seem scared of Cash, who, from my surveillance, seems to be the brother who spends the most time here. Though I can’t help but find it amusing calling mobsters drama queens.
“You’re a fast learner, huh?” She gives me a sly smile. “That’s your locker there. Stash your stuff, then come meet me up front.”
She strolls out, and I’m left alone.
The blinds are closed right now. Is he in there right now? Planning his next kill?
I stuff my jacket and bag into the locker and get that cold tickle on the back of my neck again. Like I’m being watched.
I’m being paranoid.
I fill my lungs with a deep breath and turn to leave. However, my feet seem to stop on their own accord just before the opening between the locker room and kitchen.
I take one last long look at the closed door, half expecting him to come jumping out.
He never does.
The next three days are long and hard. I’ve spent so much time in bed the past few weeks that my body aches from being on my feet all day. But as far as waitressing goes, it’s a pretty great job. The customers tip well, the staff meals are delicious, and the other employees are a lot of fun to be around.
